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  SEVEN LAY AWAKE after that. Staring, wondering, thinking; what had she ever done to deserve a fate like this. What a monster she must have been in her previous life to be worthy of such divine damnation.

Draco slept soundly beside her, entirely unaware of what he had done. That was the worst part; he didn't even realise his mistake, so wrapped up in the idea of who he wanted her to be instead of who she was.

Mara. The name was familiar, but in an unfamiliar way, almost like an echo of something she had heard before. The answer seemed obvious to Seven, Mara was his fiancé, the one he claimed to have left — for her. So then why did he still long for her to be the one beneath him...
At first, she tried her best not to think about it, but the more she tried the more it hurt, like trying to grab a steadfast dagger by the blade and aim it anywhere else but her heart.

With only that one misspoken word, everything seemed to slip into place — right down to the clothes Seven had been wearing. Even the jumper Draco had given her to wear now repulsed her, an ugly red knitted thing, and on the front; a gold-stitched M.

She was everywhere, there was no escaping her presence. This was her world, her home, her Draco; Seven was only pretending to live her life whilst she was gone, and when she returned... Seven dreaded to think.

A DAY PASSED, then another, though the thoughts still refused to leave. During the days he fed her on honey love and affection. They began to paint again, only now Seven's works were dark as a bruise, an agonising portrayal of pain. Draco didn't notice, he saw only the beauty of the blues and blacks and lilacs, like a night sky, he had said.
They laid basking in the sun wrapped in each others arms, hopelessly tangled in the web of their lies, only now they didn't even try for freedom, learned in their helplessness.

They knew they were liars, both of them, but those lies were also the ties that bound them to one another. They'd rather live a lie than not live at all.
And then, each night he came to her, with careful hands and hungry eyes. She let him in, let him pretend for a time that it was Mara he was fucking, all the while she let herself pretend that it was her he wanted. Better to live a lie than not to live at all, she told herself, again and again and again. It never made it any easier.
It may have been her name carved in blood over his heart, a perfect 7 scarred for all to see, but those marks were only skin deep. It was her that lay beneath the surface. It had always been her.

It ate away at Seven, slowly but surely, until on the third day she finally snapped. That day Draco had been particularly kind, agreeing that since the Sins now knew what she looked like there was no point in keeping her hair dyed red.

"Do you think we should try a different colour, then?" She had asked as he played with her hair, "Blonde perhaps?"

"No." He had answered, "Just dye it black again. I liked your hair how it was when I first found you."

She wanted to ask if it was because Mara had black hair. She didn't need to, Draco no longer made an effort to hide his emotions from her, he was easy to read if only she was brave enough to try.

He'd done it for her, with a touch of his wand and a few words whispered a little too tenderly and her hair was as it once was; dark as a winter night, black as a raven's wing.
— Perhaps that was the thing to finally push her over the edge.

That night, like all the rest, Seven couldn't sleep. At last she slid out from Draco's arms and made her way to the balcony, snagging a bottle of white liquor from the kitchen. The air inside was a suffocating, like a surf of hot sea foam bubbling over her face. All she had was a name; Mara — and yet somehow that woman still managed to take up every second of space inside that apartment.
Draco hadn't made the same mistake again since that first night they'd lain together, he had even become much kinder. Seven told herself that at least as long as he continued to pretend she was Mara he had no desire to be cruel to her. It was only Seven he liked to hurt.

The night air was warmer than usual, Seven wished for the cold — wished for the biting chill to numb her lips and fingertips and to take the pain away, or at least, give her another to focus on.
On her first swig, she choked on the liquor, pulling a sour face as she swallowed the bitter taste down. Though after that each drink came easier than the last, until finally, she found some semblance of the sedation she sought.
It hurt a little less then; the thought of it all, somehow seeming less daunting the more her head swam and her stomach burned.

She wasn't sure at what point she became aware of his presence, or how long exactly he had been standing there, watching her. Maybe it was the link that bound them, although since his death she hadn't felt it nearly as much.

"What do you want?" She slurred, not even trying to keep the malice from her voice as she repeated the exact same words he'd said to her not that long ago.

"What are you doing, Seven?" His face was icy as a winter morning, unreadable except for the slight tick of his jaw.

"Oh, so I'm Seven now? — There was me thinking I thought I was Mara — or is that only when we fuck?" She waved the bottle, "And what does it look like I'm doing?"

Something dawned behind his eyes; a horrid realisation that caused his entire body to tense like a coiled spring, ready to explode with the slightest touch. When he spoke, his voice was tight, "What?"

Seven's smile only grew to see his distress, "You see, Draco, that's the best part! — For once you're the one that has no clue what you've done wrong! So tell me," She pouted, "How does it feel? Not particularly nice is it?"

"Seven," He spat her name like a killing curse, a weapon of her own design, "Answer me. Now." Draco was angry like she had never seen him before, eyes dark and deadly with feral promise, an untapped kind of anarchy she had yet to witness. His lip curled into a snarl, "What do you know about Mara?"

Out of everything they had been through — everything they had done, that was the one thing to get him truly riled; the mention of his precious little Mara.
"And why should I tell you?" Seven laughed, swaying a little, "You never tell me anything!"

Instinctively, as if unable to stop himself, he began to come towards her, violent intent resonating in every brash step, his clenched fists aching to wrap around her throat, "What do you know, Seven!"

She didn't back down. Not even as his cruel face glared down at her. Seven braced for the pain, welcomed it whole-heartedly, fuelled by white liquor and months of pent-up frustration, "Look at you, Draco — look at what you've become! You're a monster!"

She stared up at him, pleading for some small corner of his heart to hear hers. She told herself that it was better to have some of him than none of him. She told herself that she could share — that she could live with being second best — even when she knew it was a lie.

"What would Mara say if she could see you know? — This can't possibly be the Draco she loved!"

He moved fast as if to strike her. Seven didn't flinch as his hand lifted, slowed towards the side of her face almost like he was going to tuck away a stray piece of hair, and then dropped in resigned regret.

Touch me, her mind screamed all the wretched wants that she could never dare to speak, touch me, please, show me that some of this is real — show me that you love me like I love you.

He didn't; only stared, an unfamiliar look on his face. Tormented. Pained. But not hateful. Love shouldn't hurt like this.

Seven blinked up at him, searching desperately for that faint flicker of recognition that meant that her Draco was in there, somewhere. "You don't scare me anymore, Draco."

Looking into his eyes was like staring into the dark; only the endless abyss of the unknown watched back.

"It's not me you should be afraid of anymore." He said quietly, his once scarlet anger now faded into a sombre shade of fading sunset, warm, but not scauldingly so, not untouchable.

"Who then? The Sins? Voldemort? None of those scare me!" Seven shook her head, her vision beginning to take a turn, "I have nothing they could possibly take from me! Nothing and no one left to lose!"

He was quiet for a long while, and then, finally, almost ashamed he said, "You have me."

Liquor loosed and hurting, her reply came all too fast, one she didn't mean but also one she couldn't take back. "That's not enough, Draco. You know it's not."

"It's enough for me."

Their words hung in the air. Seven felt sick with regret. Sick with herself, with him. Draco was a liar. Seven knew she wasn't enough. She never had been, she'd been a fool to ever believe otherwise. From the start it had been her, it had always been Mara, only up until now she'd been too blind to see it.

The liquor's buzz had begun to wear off and now in its place, there was only numb warmth. She spoke so quietly he almost missed it, "You and I both know that's not true."

Draco heaved a mournful breath, gaze downcast as he moved to stand beside her at the railing, "I want it to be."

Seven's heart had never felt so heavy, like a lead weight in her chest. "Do you still love her?"

He thought about it for a while, though all along he knew his answer, "Always." He whispered, as if to himself, and then, "I didn't want to. I didn't want to then, and I certainly don't want to now... But I do — with all my heart." He laughed but there was no humour in it, "That's always the way it is though, I guess. You don't get a choice."

Seven's throat was tight, "And did she love you too?"

Another hesitation, though this time his answer was less certain, "I like to think so."

"Then why did you leave?" It seemed illogical, Seven thought, if everything was as he said, then surely there was no reason to ever leave. Unless of course, like Seven, Mara became not enough.

"I had no other choice." He sounded different then; colder, as if the night's chill leached its way into his words. "She knew it was coming in the end, I think. One of us had to go, it was only a matter of who struck first."

"She'll forgive you, you know. If she really loved you, one day, she will." Seven had meant it to sound reassuring, but instead, it came out meek. How could she possibly condemn another woman to mercy when she herself was not the forgiving type?

When she looked up at him his face was dark, strained to sadness with untold agony, "Somehow I don't think so, Seven."

"Why not?"

Draco wouldn't meet her eye, "Because I killed her."

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QOTD - Do you guys want to see more Mara content?
I've missed you guys!! I've been so busy sorting out stuff for exams and my new job but hopefully everything is settled now so updates will be more frequent!